Dead or Alive
by maglin
Summary: "The night was wet and cold, the pavement slippery from the never-ending rain..." An intrigue, nameless figures in dark rooms, a very important Post-It-Note and Nami right in the middle of it. AUish
1. Words in the Fog

_**Dead or Alive**_

Words in the fog

The cigar smoke in the darkened small room was so dense that one could not recognise more of the gathered figures, than just the rough outlines of their bodies. The two shapes were facing each other silently, so that one could hear the noise trickling through the ajar door. Laughter, excited voices, soft music... the Marine Ball was already in full swing. One of the figures moved to light a new cigar and took a long puff, before it broke the tense silence.

"So it has been stolen?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Do we know already who is responsible?"

"We have a photo, Sir."

"Give it to me."

"..."

"A Woman?"

"Almost still a girl, Sir. She should be around 19 years old."

"Has she been recorded before? Do we know with whom she belongs?"

"Several thefts, sir. Cash, jewelry, every now and then food. And so far only from pirates, Sir."

"So no pirate then. Does that mean that she belongs to the revolutionaries?"

"We do not know yet, Sir. But the team is working on it. Of course, there is still the possibility that she did not even know what she was stealing there."

"That does not matter. We need these documents, no matter what the costs!"

"Document, Sir."

"Hmh?"

"Document, not documents, Sir. Strictly speaking it is nothing more than a Post-It note, Sir."

"A Post-It note? All this uprise for a _Post-It note_?"

"It contains very valuable formulas, Sir. It is a very important Post-It note. If pirates or God forbids the revolutionaries would get a hold of it... Dr. Vegapunk has written a report on the possible consequences."

"Unpleasant?"

"Very unpleasant, Sir."

"I see."

...

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"What are you planning to do now, Sir?"

"Do we have a name?"

"I think so, Sir."

"Good. Then proceed as we always do."

"You mean ... a bounty, Sir?"

"Yes and make sure it's a high one! She will not be allowed to take a single breath in peace from tomorrow onwards. Throw her to the wolves!"

"I will take care of it, Sir. What shall I tell the Navy why we are looking for her?"

"Depredations, arson, murder... Does it really matter? Choose what you think will work best."

"Alright, Sir."

It crackled quietly as a cigar was stubbed out. Hands were shaken. For a short moment the noise became louder as the door opened a tiny crack, but then it closed again, leaving no trace of the secret meeting other than a photo on the table.  
It showed a girl, actually more a young woman. A pretty face with big brown eyes, framed by wavy orange hair. Completely unaware she looked right into the camera.

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**_A/N:_ Hello there.. Me again. Im starting a new multi chapter story, One Piece this time ("It's all about the boots" is not abandoned, i will see to it, that i will upload the second chapter there soon, promise!)**

**Constructive Critisism is most welcome and if you notice any grammar or spelling mistakes please tell me. English is not my mothertongue and I dont have a Betareader for this.**

**The story is planned out so far and I ve written about four chapters for this already, still, my uploading rythym will be quite irregular I fear. This is just some kind of prologue, the real chapters will be longer, though i dunno how much. Im still learning.**

**Thats about it for now, I think...**

**So long, Mag!**

_**PS. One Piece is owned by Eiichirō Oda, though I assume, that Luffy will claim it in the future.**_


	2. Wet Cobbles

_**Dead or Alive**_

_~ Chapter One ~_

Wet Cobbles

The night was wet and cold, the pavement slippery from the never-ending rain. Nevertheless, she managed to stay on her feet and to run even faster, as the footsteps behind her grew louder. They made so much noise that she could barely hear her own, but she was just fine with that. Let them tell her exactly where they were. Panting, she turned into another alley, elongated and dark as was the last.

The cheap paper in her hands was already completely soaked, a large part of it printed letters blurred and illegible, but she seemed unable to put it down since the moment she had ripped it from one of the greasy walls. Mesmerized, she stared at the picture and the numbers below it - as if by magic the only thing, which had been spared from the water - without being able to figure it out. Blindly she rushed forward, while her fingers dug into the Wanted Poster. A Wanted Poster. _Her_ Wanted Poster! And the bounty on it so high that for a short moment she considered to turn herself in, just to collect the reward. But of course that was madness.

_300 million beli. 300 mill-_

Only with difficulty she managed to suppress the urge to break out into hysterical laughter. The amount was even in these times when the money depreciated more and more in less and less time, so ridiculously high that she had trouble to even imagine it. The whole time she had wondered why they were after her, why they followed her track to every goddamn little town. Now she had her answer, but why her of all people?

Another turn, another alleyway. This one even narrower than the last and stinking like a sewer. Fighting her gag reflex she rushed on. Hopefully that would at least be enough to shake off the damn dogs.

It wasn't like she wasn't accustomed to be hunted. In fact, she even had quite a lot of experience on that subject. As a rule pirates didn't like when they were stolen from. If you couldn't run fast, you didn't last long under these circumstances. She regarded it as a kind of workout. But this time there were no pirates after her, but bounty hunters. Men who were trained to take down aforementioned pirates. And not just one or two ... there were hordes. Whole packs of them roamed the streets. Of course, some people would argue, there wasn't that much of a difference. After all, also pirate crews were sometimes very large and sometimes also very well trained and organized, but she would have told those people to mind their own fucking business, perhaps accompanied by a blow to the head. Because she knew better. Local inhabitants opened their doors seldom willingly to pirates. They didn't tell pirates for a handful of coins that there was a young woman hiding in their basement. One kept together against pirates, even in these times. But there wasn't a safe place for her. These bastards searched Inns, attics, backyards. And they didn't give up. Already three times within the last week she had changed town, but there only seemed to be more of them.

A hoarse call in the distance caused her to change her course again and to bolt into the opposite direction. From afar she could hear the muffled murmur of the main road, it couldn't be far anymore. The house walls on either side, sky-high and black as the night, stood so close that she almost grazed her skin on their rough rendering, as she squeezed through the narrow passage. Her breathing sounded rash and hasty, like a hounded animal. But she couldn't stop. Not yet.

Why did somebody place a bounty on her head?

Well okay, she had stolen. Quite a bit, actually. But since when was it a crime to steal from pirates? Weren't there much worse offenses? And why the hell this ridiculously high sum? That put even warlords to shame! Frustrated, she stuffed the scrap of paper into the pocket of her completely soaked shorts. She hadn't time to doubt the Navy's intelligence right now. Not that there would have been much to doubt...

Skidding she came to a stop and cocked her head, listening. All around her sounded the agitated voices of the bounty hunters. But unlike before, they sounded no longer triumphant, but confused. The barking of their dogs had become a pathetic whining. She sneered. A good sense of direction enabled you to confuse even locals so much that they no longer find their way around their own neighborhood, just by running in circles. And her sense of direction was more than just good...

Nevertheless – slowly but surely she grew tired of this everlasting game of cat-and-mouse. She couldn't get any work done. Wrapping her arms around her drenched body she slowed her steps and trotted back the way she had come. She breathed a sigh of relief when after a short walk she noticed the lights of the main road in front of her. After the witch hunt through the dark streets of the Lower Town even the cold light of the street lamps appeared to be warm and inviting to her. Moreover, it would be so much easier to hide there among all those other people. Only one night owl of many. Nothing special. Even so late in the evening there was a crowd of people here. They huddled together, rushed back and forth between the colorful stalls, bought, sold or simply looked at the offered goods. In places like this, one could almost forget the bad shape this world was in right now.

Head down, she pushed right into the crowd and let herself be driven by its flow. Of course while relieving some of the by-passers of their hard earned money. It had become a kind of reflex and in all honesty, if they made it so unbelievable easy for her, the people really got only themselves to blame. Almost casually, she reached out and swiped a wide-brimmed hat of one of the stalls, a long colorful silk scarf from another and was already gone, before the salesmen had ever noticed her. With her new hat shadowing her face and the scarf wrapped around her neck she went on quietly, following the flow of the crowd to the next junction and disappeared with a brief look back into the shadows. This time, however, on the other side of the street.

The Upper Town wasn't quite as run down as the alleys of the slums. The streets were wider, cleaner (though not much) and there were lanterns. Even if most of them didn't accomplish more than a sickly flicker. But here, too, the houses were ill-kempt, the grass in the front gardens almost knee high and yellowed. This town had clearly seen better days. Recently, cases such as this were becoming more frequent. The economic situation was bad and the Navy too busy fighting the revolutionaries as to take action against the marauding pirate crews who often raided the port towns like a pack of starved wolves and took the little, that the people still possessed. Lately, they have been sighted more and more often inland...

But at least the houses were still standing here. Her hometown hadn't been so lucky.

Quickly pushing this memory to the back of her mind the young woman quickened her pace and rubbed her bare arms, shivering in the cool evening air. It was about time that she got somewhere warm. Somewhere around here she had seen an empty house whose roof was still in relatively good condition. Pushing the hat back she looked down the road and sighed with relief when her destination caught her eye. Small and low the building crouched between two large mansions, like an intimidated child. Almost sympathetic she looked at the crumbling plaster and the weathered ornaments which adorned the once probably white front, while she jauntily leaped over the wrought-iron fence. If she were a house, she thought, while she trudged through the damp grass up to the front door, she probably would look just like this.

The old lock was almost as rusty as the fence and a piece of cake for her pocket knife. Creaking the door swung open and cautiously she peered into the darkness as she took off her hat. Silence met her when she hesitantly made a step inside. Thick, pristine dust lay on the floor like a dirty carpet and the bare walls gave the musty smell of mold. She grimaced. No, she was definitely used to something better than this, but refugees couldn't be picky. Listening for any suspicious noises she took another step into the house and spied an old worn-out sofa in the dim light of the street lamp outside. Well, for tonight it would be enough. And by tomorrow morning she would already be up and away, while these slow-witted bounty hunters were still wandering around in the slums. The thought made her giggle gleefully. At least until a shadow fell over her. A damn big shadow.

"Care to share? Maybe I can laugh as well?"

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_**A/N: And here it is, Chapter 1. I hope you like it, if not... critisism is most welcome (if constructive) so don't hold back. **_

_**Curious to hear/read your thoughts, Mag!~**_

_**PS. One Piece is still in the possesion of Eiichiro Oda (Luffy seems in no hurry).**_

_**PPS. I'm most grateful for the positive feedback so far, i hope this is also to your liking.**_


	3. Drenched Cat

_**Dead or Alive**_

_~Chapter Two~_

Drenched Cat

Her laughter died away at his words and he heard her gasp before she slowly turned to face him, despite the shock apparently clever enough to realize that sudden movements or screaming weren't a very good idea right now. Searching he eyed the stock stiff figure with its wide brown eyes that staring back at him, slim shoulders trembling. Fear was written clearly on her face, even if half of it was covered by a colorful cloth. It only made those eyes appear bigger and younger. They seemed to fill her whole face and swallow him up. He was a bit taken aback at how small she was. One might have mistook her for a girl, if not for the body showing through her sopping wet top, which clearly belonged to a grown woman. Still, he was not sure why, but somehow he had expected someone larger, fiercer. Someone who looked dangerous and as malicious as the crime she was said to have committed. Not a drenched cat, driven into a corner. He almost felt bad when he saw how she flinched away from his hand, when he reached over and tugged her scarf down. He was no one to turn down a good fight or a strong opponent… but stalking scared woman just wasn't his thing.

He'd been right. It was her.

Even, white teeth dug into a trembling lip and quickly he reminded himself of the wanted poster in his back pocket, by now probably as wet as everything else he owned, and of that, what was written on it. Even if he would have had any pity for her – and he did not, he was a _hunter_ and hunters did not have pity for their prey. Not only got it in the way of his job, also it was bloody stupid – and this girl, no, this _woman_, did not deserve it anyway. Not after what she had done. So he pushed away his uprising guilt, back to back of his mind, and stepped into the house. She whimpered and shrank away from him, but he fixed his "prey" with a warning glare and as expected, she stilled like a deer caught in the headlights. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her shorts, clutching it so tightly, that her knuckles became white.

Well, at least it did not seem like she would cause him any problems. Any other day he might have been disappointed with her lack of fighting spirit, but he was exhausted and this day had been far too long already. He sure as hell wouldn't be complaining about a simple job. Sighing, he reached for the rope, hanging over his shoulder, and took another step towards her. This time his intrusion was met only by a sharp inhalation, that sounded suspiciously like a sob, but he ignored it.

"Guess I do not need to explain why I'm here."

A statement, not a question. And the way her shoulders slumped, making her seem even smaller, showed him, that she knew indeed. It seemed like she had accepted her fate and would not try to run – which was good, since it would spare him the effort and her the insult when he caught her no six feet later. Instead, she raised her head, her lower lip bruised now and her brown eyes full of tears.

"Please…" her voice was so quiet, barely above a whisper, that he almost didn't hear her.

He paused, only briefly though, and raised a brow in disbelief. Not running away and putting up a fight was one thing, begging quite another. Did she have not even a spark of self-respect? And did she really expect him to actually listen to it? On the other hand, what should one expect from a person who was capable of such crimes as she was? Shrugging, he moved on.

"Please…" she whimpered again, a bit louder now. "… MOVE OUT OF MY WAY, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"

Caught off guard by her sudden outburst, he noticed a heartbeat too late that something was wrong. The woman loosened her death grip on her pants and brought her hand up so fast he only realized what was going on, when it was all over: In the dim light of the street lamp behind him, he saw something flash silvery and before he knew what was happening, that little witch was on him, a triumphant cry at her lips. Her weapon, something cold and hard, crashed against his ribs with surprising force. Hissing the air left his lungs.

He blinked in surprise, but remained upright. It hurt, yes, and probably there would be a pretty nasty bruise in the morrow, maybe even the bones took some damage, she was quite skilled with that weapon of hers – a thin metal tube or something alike, he noticed now – but he was used to much worse. His lack of response seemed to unsettle her, apparently she had expected him to double over in pain. He smirked. As if…

The blow that hit his left temple full force in the next moment, he had not seen coming. His left. Left… When he lost his eye acquiring the thin scar, which henceforth graced his face – a souvenir of his last battle – in the process, he had told himself that it didn't matter. That he could survive just fine with only one eye in this world. Who needed both anyway? Sure as hell not him, it would make life more interesting, more of a challenge. It was not _important_. And he found himself to be right. It didn't hinder him half as much, as one could have thought. At least most of the time... It took him a while, but soon he had adjusted and almost fought as well as he had before his injury. But in moments like this, he was painfully reminded that it _did_ matter. That something was missing. That with only one eye, he needed a moment longer to notice an approaching enemy, a weapon aimed at him. It was only a small part, which eluded his attention. Tiny even. A tiny blind spot in his field of view, which remained hidden from him. But sometimes even such a tiny little spot was enough…

The last thing he saw before the edges of his vision began to blur and cloud, until he sank into complete darkness, was her contented face when she wiped away her obviously faked tears with the back of her hand. Damn that witch!

_**~o~0~o~**_

The very moment he regained consciousness, he wished he didn't. His head roared like this one time one of his "clients" had turned out to be a rum smuggler and he had helped himself with his stock and so it took him some time to remember, where he was… or why. But when he finally managed to pull himself into a sitting position, his eyes falling on a yellowed piece of cheap paper, folded twice in the middle, his memory came back with full force and the bounty hunter cursed his carelessness. Only the arrogance to underestimate an opponent was even more dangerous than to be afraid of it. The evidence for this lesson was written on his very skin, twice even, but it seemed he still had not memorized it properly.

Carefully, he reached for his temple. His fingers met caked blood and followed its thin trail that had painted a jagged line across his jaw, but it seemed to be nothing serious. He probably didn't even have a concussion.

That made his situation only more embarrassing. Groaning he got up, adjusted his swords and tried to dust off his clothes, until he gave up with a muttered curse and was about to shove the Wanted Poster back in his pocket, when some hastily scribbled words on its back caught his eye. He paused and read. Blinked. Read again. And crumbled the note in his fist. This fucking little witch!

Growling, he stared into the still pouring rain outside. He could really think of much better things to do with his night - sleeping, for an instance – but there was no way he could let this little _incidence_ slide. He may have found her only by accident, but now that he had her once, he wouldn't give up his prey to anyone else. Not to mention the insult she had to pay for. Besides… he really needed the cash. So stepped out of the door, out in the damp cold of the night, and peered through the rain. Of course the redhead was nowhere to be seen. He looked up and down the road, cursed, and took the right. At least this whole messed up situation had one advantage: Since he had no idea where to look for her to start with, there was no danger of losing his way.

Still, he certainly had had better nights. His short hair was plastered to his head and he when a single drop of rain found its way past shirt and slid down his spine, he resisted the urge to shudder only with difficulty. He could barely remember what I felt like to be dry.

For three damn days now he roamed the streets of this city and the dense blanket of clouds hanging over its often patched, pointed roofs had not opened up a single time. Normally he couldn't have cared less about the weather, but water was filling his black boots to the rim and it would not have surprised him if his katanas would have started to rust by now. The echo of his footsteps resounded lonely through the darkness of the night, the only noise besides the steady pattering of the rain in the deserted streets in front of him. He had no clue where he was, already, but something told him that he wasn't to find the one he was looking for here. As before, his one eye slid over crumbling facades and ragged gardens, this time however, not in search of a broken window through which he could enter, but a shock of tangerine hair, dark from the rain.

He still had a hard time to wrap his head around the fact that he had found her _now_ of all times. He had only been looking for an abandoned house to spend the night. He had no illusions that anyone would have let him in if he had bothered to knock on one of the doors behind which people still lived. These were no days in which you invited a stranger into your home and he practically spelled _danger_. It wasn't a rare occurrence that people unconsciously crossed to the other side of the street when he walked towards them. They thought to be in absolute control over their senses and that they made their own decisions. But in reality they were all powerless against the small voice in the back of their head that whispered _Do not turn around! Run! RUN! _whenever they heard a noise walking down a dark alley at night.

Well… he was able to evoke just this feeling in the brightest sunshine on a busy square and he'd be damned if that didn't fill him with a certain amount of satisfaction. But in moments like this it would have been rather nice to make a more trustworthy impression. He lacked the money to rent a room. That alone had been the reason why he roamed around in this shitty neighborhood. There was no other option if he wanted a roof over his head, at least for the night. Not that he minded it much.

Though it looked like there wouldn't be any sleep this night.

He snorted. After he had been searching for her for three days straight, leaving no stone unturned and all to no avail… she suddenly showed up right in front of him. And just as suddenly he had made a bolt for it. He was curious to see how Usopp would make a success story out of that one. But knowing self-appointed manager, he would come up with yet another heroic tale to add to his reputation. A reluctant grin spread across his face. Maybe this mishap had also its advantages. It was always an amusing way to pass his time watching this nutcase talking himself into trouble.

His head lowered he rounded a corner, entering another backstreet, and was hit by a cold gust of wind that carried the smell of salt and fish. The port? Maybe the witch was trying to catch a ship and get out of here. And if not… well, if he couldn't find her, he could might as well drink a few pints and try to forget the whole disaster. However, the lightness of his pockets quickly brought him back to the sad reality… in which his money was barely enough to afford more than one or two glasses. And not even of the good stuff. His current assets amounted to three lonely Bellie, not nearly enough to get as wasted as he would like to be. His spirits sank lower and lower as he passed one well-attended pub after another until he finally came to hold in front of a ramshackle _object _– his mind refused to acknowledge this construction as a building – gazing up with a furrowed brow. The name didn't bode well. "To the moldy boot" … he could only hope that it wasn't meant to provide a hint concerning the taste of the ale. Sighing heavily, he stepped over the threshold.

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_**A/N: Hi there... wow.. i'm really sorry that I took so long, even though this chapter was all written and so on.. I dont even have a very good excuse for you guys, only the usual: A lot of stuff came up, universaty got in the way and than Game of Thrones happened *cough cough***_

_**Anyway... here we are with Chapter Two. I hope i do not dissappoint you, I do not like it even half as much as Ch. I but well.. decide yourself.**_

_**Constructive critisim is still very encouraged (thanks for all the feedback and advice so far) !**_

_**One Piece belongs to Oda Eiichirō (still. Luffy, what are you guys doing?)**_


	4. Words in the Shadows

_**Dead or Alive**_

_~interlude two~_

Words in Shadows

The man was leaning in the shadows under the massive wooden staircase against the wall, a splotch of black in the darkness. Sand trickled down at him like rain through the cracks and gaps in the roughly timbered steps, as some recruits hastily run up to the second floor. A parade was coming up, one of the admirals wanted to inspect the troops, it seemed. As expected, there was a flurry of activity at the base, the corridors were full of people who had important things to do or at least made an effort to look like they did. But that was quite alright with him, since it also meant that no one had the time to pay him or his suspicious behavior any particular attention. The man glanced to the left and right to make sure he was alone, and then stared at the softly snoring snail in his hand. A possible (very attentive) observer might would have described his demeanor as nervous. Perhaps he would have even gone so far as to call it outright worried. But of course this was utter nonsense. He did not get nervous. Never.

And yet...

Suppressing a frustrated growl, he lifted the Den Den Mushi at eye level and picked up the receiver before he had time to think about it differently. With a clunk the animal awoke and a lazy grin spread across its face. At a snail it seemed somehow out of place... Something that had no teeth just shouldn't have been able to look this much like a shark.

"Ah, I already feared, you had forgotten about me and our little appointment. Was about to send someone to you and help you... _remember_. "

"... I see."

"Very well. So? "

"I have everything under control. Sir. "

"_So?_"

"I put the commander on the little bitch. Since yesterday morning, every single bounty hunter in the Grand Line knows her face and in a few hours, the messengers should reach the remaining seas. There will be no place to run for her and…"

"Bounty hunters?"

"Yes. I almost forgot! That's the best part: We get a hold of the thief and at the same time someone is taking the blame for this ... other _thing_. The citizens were getting restless, but that should give us a short breather before the government will be forced to take action and find the real culprit. "

"Mhm. Dead or alive?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The bounty hunters. To my knowledge, this is their catch phrase. Dead or alive. Living people tend to talk. That would be extremely unpleasant. "

"Well, I had no choice. I had to offer any explanation for the loss of the note and why not take advantage of the available resources and rout out the bitch while at the same time diverting the Navy's attention from us. Besides... I'm pretty sure that she did not even know what she took there. She probably does not even have it anymore. And wasn't that what you wanted? The note disappearing before they can use it against you? If you want me to, of course I could... "

"Alright. Alright. But do not forget: Accidents happen on the high seas all the time~ "

"Indeed…?"

It was only when he had hung up already and stuffed the snail in his coat, that he realized that he wasn't all that sure who his conversational partner had just meant with his last remark.

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_**A/N: little bit faster this time, but also only a short chapter. Hope you don't mind and it is not getting to confusing. The "other thing" aka Nami's supposed crime, will be revealed in the following two chapters. **_

_**Constructive critisim is still very encouraged (thanks for all the feedback and advice so far) !**_

_**One Piece belongs to Oda Eiichirō (...maybe the crew hired him as some kind of ...fund manager or something.)**_


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